I Hope You're Listening
by Cr1mson5
Summary: Tim visits his parents' graves to pay his respects on Valentine's Day, and to reflect on what's happened to him since they left. I wrote this listening to "Anthem of the Angels" by Breaking Benjamin, so expect it to be depressing.


The snow was piled on everything it was able to pile up on, accenting the arches of tombstones and the graceful shapes of angels' wings with sparkling white fluff. The leafless trees looked like sharp sticks someone had forced into the ground, their bare tendrils reaching into the sky as if they were hands trying to grab the gray clouds suspended in the air. The imposing structures of mausoleums crowded one corner, while the rest of the cemetery was littered with statues and slabs of stone jutting up from the dead grass.

Snow crunched under both shoe and crutch as I hobbled through the necropolis, heading for those two familiar graves. Two bouquets were stuffed into pockets in my coat, both filled with fresh red roses. A cold breeze blew, ruffling my hair. My breath was visible in the air, a pale fog against a melancholy backdrop of gray.

I reached the tombstones soon enough, underneath a thick-trunked oak tree. Just reading the names on them broke my heart.

**JACK DRAKE**

**Beloved husband and father**

**JANET DRAKE**

**Beloved wife and mother**

I slipped my left arm out of its crutch, took the bouquets from my pockets, and laid one on each grave. I forced a smile, swallowing to keep the tears from coming out. "Hey, Mom, hey, Dad," I murmured. "If you can hear me, if you're listening, happy Valentine's Day."

I couldn't help but notice the cracks in the tombstones, no doubt left over from the Blackest Night. My parents, both of them, had been reanimated as Black Lanterns. They attacked Dick and me in this very cemetery. They…they tried to…_eat _my heart. And the things they said to me, the temptation to join them…I almost gave in then. I almost let them do it, as horrific as it was. Things were so horrible for me that I actually considered it. I actually thought it might've been a better option than sticking around in the land of the living. After all, even though Bruce was still alive, what was left for me anymore? I'd lost everything I'd ever cared about. I was an outcast. I could never be accepted, not like before. I could never be loved again. Why not die and be with my family again? At least then I'd be happy.

I remembered that awful night, looking into my parents' dead eyes, their devilish grins, and knowing what I had to do. I was disgusted with myself at how easily I could pull the trigger of the flamethrower, how simple it was for me to torch the man and woman who raised me. Then, I realized that it wasn't as easy as it seemed. For the barest flicker of a moment, a sliver of pain pierced my heart, and as I noticed it, it took over. The only thought in my head was:

_What am I doing?_

The sadness was there, beneath the rage and the confidence and the willpower inside me. Even if I'd chosen not to recognize it, I knew it'd still be there, eating away at me. The pain was still there, whether I admitted to it or not. The wounds were still raw. I was still hung up on the fact that they were gone. And seeing these, these dark doppelgangers made from my mother and father's corpses only worsened it.

I remember what it was like, seeing Mom and Dad's gray, decaying faces in the flames. It was an endless, vicious cycle of them being reduced to charred skulls before regenerating moments later, only to be once again blasted into skeletal remains. It didn't matter how many times Dick told me that they weren't really my parents, because the guilt just kept hitting me as many times as they burned away and came back. For me, in that moment, it was as if I was holding the flamethrower up to them when they were still warm and alive and pulling on the trigger, watching the destruction.

Then, somehow, it clicked. Dick was right, to an extent. Staring into Dad's eyes, no pupils, no irises, I got what he was saying. That thing that was attacking me, it wasn't my father. It sounded like him. It had his memories, obviously. But it wasn't him. There was nothing left of who my dad was. Even though that despicable black power ring had desecrated his remains, it could never touch his soul, the part of him that made him who he was. It was the same with my mom. Her loving, caring heart was not inside that beastly thing that used to be her body. The woman who gave birth to me and the man she married were both gone, gone to a much better place where they didn't have to worry about any of this crap.

I don't really remember what I said. I was screaming at him, letting the words flow. I do remember, though, saying that my parents lived in my heart, and as long I was alive, so were they. Then, I felt…warmer, somehow, less panicky and angry. It felt like Mom and Dad, my _real _Mom and Dad, were right beside me, putting their arms around me.

Right then, in that moment, I could feel their essences there with me. I could feel that they were proud of me.

I brushed my hair from my face, letting the tears run down my face and drop onto the snow at my feet. "Things have changed a lot since you guys left," I began. "Bruce adopted me. I'm running Wayne Enterprises now, sort of. I might possibly have met my future girlfriend, I think. And don't worry about the crutches. They're temporary." I sighed, unsure of what else to say. I knew I had to keep talking. I knew I needed to. But I just…didn't know what to say to them. Call it nerves, call it secrecy, or call it a design flaw. Whatever it is, I was at a loss for words because of it.

"I—I know I've never really let you guys go. I know I should, but…it's just so hard to do, you know? I mean, you raised me, you taught me everything. I owed you guys." I paused.

"I guess the real reason I never let you go was because I felt like…I felt like I never repaid you for everything you did for me. I tried, but, looking back on it, those tries were so pitifully small compared to your sacrifices for me. I wanted to do something more for you. I wanted a…second chance, a second chance to make things right, to save you, to do something so that I didn't feel like I was totally letting you down. I'm still hurting over that failure. I'm still upset that I didn't save either of you before.

"Every time I fail, every time someone dies because of me, I think of you guys. I think of you and I wonder whose lives I've just ruined. It seems like my failures always cost _and _ruin lives. I've even ruined my own."

Images flashed through my mind, memories of their deaths. Suddenly, I was thirteen years old again, standing beside my mother's casket, holding the handles of my father's wheelchair. He and I were both sobbing like little kids, gazing down at her body. She looked just like she was sleeping, her raven hair perfectly combed and parted, hands folded on her stomach, eyes closed. Dad reached in and brushed the side of her face with his thumb. "Oh, Janet," he'd whispered. "Why'd you leave us?" Walking away from that cemetery, from my mom, I thought that was the hardest thing I'd ever have to do. And it was, second only to walking away from my dad.

Then, I was sixteen again, talking to my dad for the last time on the phone. I think, deep down, we both knew he wouldn't survive this one. We both knew I wouldn't be there in time. I remember the fear that filled my blood as I listened to the words he was saying to me. I remember thinking that I wished he'd stop talking, because he was talking like he was about to die, telling me over and over again that he loved me and that Mom loved me and that what I did as a hero was worth it and not to ever question it or myself. Then, I heard the gunshots, the cries, and I was immediately thrown into a blind panic.

I wasn't sure what I expected to find when I walked into that apartment. Some part of me was still hoping that my dad had won somehow. Hope was building when I saw Captain Boomerang slumped on the ground. It all came crashing down when I saw Dad stretched out on the floor in a puddle of blood, a golden boomerang lodged in his chest. I dashed across the floor, crawling after I slipped on the dark liquid staining the tile. I was on my knees beside my father's body, yanking at the boomerang. The panic, the fear, the sadness, they'd taken over. I wasn't myself, that's the only explanation for it. Even when Bruce came, even when he was holding me as I cried, even as he carried me out, I felt an overwhelming need to be near my father, to avenge his death. Looking over Batman's shoulder as he took me out of the apartment, I saw once again that my father's murderer was dead, and then the next onslaught of tears burned like fire, because I knew vengeance was impossible now.

I reached into the collar of my shirt, pulling out the golden locket I always wore. It had belonged to my mother, and fingering it now, I could feel them there, with me, again, looking down at me lovingly. I popped it open, staring into it. The two pictures were actually the two halves of one picture that we'd cut up to fit inside the locket. On the left was Mom, and on the right was Dad with his hands on my nine-year-old shoulders. I couldn't help but laugh at the picture a little bit, at Dad's goofy smile, at my ridiculous buck teeth, at Mom's expression. I missed those days. Even I didn't know what I'd give to get those days back.

"I'm tempted to think that all this is my fault," I continued, still looking at the locket. "I know you told me not to second-guess my choice to be a hero, but I can't help it. I mean, if I hadn't gotten involved with Batman's world, if I hadn't become Robin, you guys might still be here. But the funny thing is…the funny thing is I can't imagine me not being Robin now. I can't imagine not becoming a hero, not doing something to help them out. Everything is so different for me now because of it, but I've finally turned into the person you guys wanted me to be, and for that, I'm thankful.

"You guys gave me everything I needed to become what I am. It was already there because of you, and the Robin identity just helped me discover it. I have both of you to thank for where I am now. I wish…I wish you could be here to see this, to see me. I wish you could see all the good I've done.

"I guess all I'm trying to say is that…I miss you. I miss you, I've missed you ever since you died, and I love you both. I love you both, and I always will. I figured there was no better day to tell you than Valentine's Day."

I kissed my hand and touched it to my mother's grave. Then, I did the same with my father's. "I'll see you guys," I whispered, my vision blurring with tears. "I won't let you down again."

I can't describe how difficult it was to walk away from their graves. I felt oddly disconnected, yet tied down by the pain all at once. I knew that, deep down in my heart of hearts, where no one else but God and I could see, I would never let them go, no matter what. Way deep down there, I would never get over their deaths. And the part of me that had died with them stayed behind, at their graves, mourning for them. I couldn't take that part of me with me. It had to stay there in the graveyard, where it belonged. I had other places to be.

I knew that, someday, we'd all be together again, just like Dad said. Death comes to everyone, young and old, big and small. No one can avoid it, no one can stop it. Death is just a part of life.

I glanced around at the snow-covered graves as I left. All of these people had moved on, from problems, from grief, from life. I could never move on. I could never get past what I'd lost. I didn't want to, because if I did, I was afraid that I might forget why I did what I did.

I dedicated my work to the memories of everyone I'd lost, everyone I'd failed to save. Men and women and children who I had watched die, and even some I hadn't, I thought of them every time I did my job successfully. I hoped beyond hope that they knew I remembered them.

Were people going to die on my watch in the future? Yes, unfortunately. But did that mean I shouldn't be a hero anymore? Did that mean that I wasn't doing my job right? Not necessarily, because even the greatest heroes can't save everyone all the time. No, I wasn't going to quit just because I'd lost so many people I loved. I would never quit, I would never give up, and I would never disappoint Mom and Dad again. Most of all, I would never disappoint them again. I would keep fighting to save people from going through what I went through to the best of my ability.

I felt my parents' presence with me. Even though they were dead, they lived on in my heart, just as I told their Black Lanterns. As long as I was around, they'd never be truly dead, truly forgotten.

Someday, three tombstones would be lined up under that old oak tree. One would be for Jack, one for Janet, and one for Timothy. I wouldn't live forever, and I most likely wouldn't die of old age. But whenever I did die, I'd be ready to greet them again in the next world. I'd be ready to tell them everything I'd done for them. I hoped they'd be proud of their son and all the work he'd put in during his life to make the world a better place.

I missed them, just like I said. I loved them, just like I said. I wasn't sure what price I'd be willing to pay to get them back again, even for just five minutes. I only wished I could've told them how I felt before they were gone.

But, for now, I would just have to keep going. I would just have to persevere, because that's what heroes do.

I would stand above the city in the cover of nightfall, looking down at the busy Gotham streets below. I would look down, I would watch, and I would remember them and all they did for me.

I would go on for them.

I would fight for them.

I would be who I really am for them.

I am Tim Drake.

I am Red Robin.

I have lost everything.

And I am still going.

_**Dedicated to all those who have lost a family member close to them. May they rest in peace.**_


End file.
